


(to make me) feel this way

by curiouslyfic



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Grinding, I don't know how to tag this, M/M, Marking, Possessiveness, body art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:04:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouslyfic/pseuds/curiouslyfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a reason Clint dug his old Hulk shirt out of the drawer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(to make me) feel this way

**Author's Note:**

> Made possible by kinky_kneazle and talekayler.

Steve’s hands skim Clint’s sides, stroking over the toxic green that’s riled him up this time. Steve’s mouth is hot and ruthless, undeniably possessive, and Clint doesn’t mind at all. 

There’s a reason he dug his old Hulk shirt out of the drawer. 

Steve just wants Clint close and kissing back, that’s all Steve ever wants, Clint there and interested, but Clint slides his hands up Steve’s neck, teases the edge of Steve’s hairline as Clint presses him down, pushes their mouths together tighter and licks insistently at Steve’s tongue. 

That little groan Steve makes sounds like it’s trying to be Clint’s name. The fingers Steve toys over Clint’s hem feel poised to rip Clint’s shirt off his body. 

It hasn’t been too long since they’ve seen each other and they haven’t been fighting; they’ve been sharing quarters rather peaceably for months and there has been emoting verbalized along the way. This can’t be anything but Clint hitting Steve’s possessiveness trigger, making Steve want to drop everything to re-lay his claim. 

It doesn’t happen often anymore, one of them pushing the other’s buttons so much they just can’t wait until they’re alone, because they’re both too fond of taking their time when they can, both too aware of the problems of pulling each other into corners in a home this crowded. So it means something that Steve’s tugged Clint aside, tucked him into an alcove by the firing range to kiss him breathless just because of what Clint’s wearing. 

It’s not even a great shirt. Fits all right but it’s big on him and the green, while consistently eye-popping despite years in the wash, really isn’t his color. The big Hulk fist on the front isn’t even the right Avenger; logically, Steve should get like this when Clint wears a Cap shirt. 

But no, Steve gets all growly-territorial on him when Clint wears someone _else_ ’s shirt and just sort of gets fond and snuggly when Clint wears the stars and stripes. Clint thinks it’s adorable, not that he’s ever telling Steve. 

Steve’s worked Clint’s lower lip raw, sucked hard and licked soft, scraped his teeth over it and made Clint shiver, and there’s absolutely no doubt Clint’s going to be feeling it later. For a moment, Steve kisses soft, lets Clint nibble gently because he loves when Steve gets turned on enough to mark him and it means so much that Steve still does. 

That Steve still even wants to. Christ, Clint has no idea how he got lucky enough for _Steve_. 

Then Steve must crack an eye and see the green or something, must remember what he’s doing and _why_ , because he’s all growly again and he wants Clint’s throat. 

Steve’s hands slip under Clint’s shirt, palm over Clint’s waist and sides and back like Steve needs to touch everywhere before he can let go. 

It’s not really surprising when Steve’s hands stay on Clint’s waist long enough to jerk him forward, push their hips together so Clint can feel Steve’s cock beside his own. Clint drops his head back against the alcove wall and swears when Steve bites the skin he’s just licked. No doubt about it, Clint is going to have a hickey. 

Clint is going to look mauled. 

Clint cannot wait. 

“Fuck, Steve, we have a room for this,” Clint reminds, because the fourth time they’d been caught by Tony and Pepper had been enough to swear them both off PDAs in the Tower. 

Steve drags his mouth up to Clint’s ear, one long, deep nuzzle of an open-mouthed kiss that ends in Steve whispering “Tease” like an accusation in a voice that coils heat in Clint’s belly, makes Clint’s fingers flex against Steve’s neck. 

“What?” Clint teases, because he is and he will. “The shirt? Want to get it off me, _Cap_?” He turns his face towards Steve’s, searches Steve’s mouth out blind for a ghost of a kiss, near enough to contact that their lips brush when Clint speaks. “So take me to bed and do something about it.” 

The elevator ride up to quarters takes forever. There is no way they would have made it up the stairs. Steve’s on him again as soon as the elevator doors close, drawing him in so they’re nose-to-nose and nuzzling with intent, tracing his thumb over a sensitive spot on Clint’s neck and staring at it like that’s all Steve sees. 

Steve’s all hot and flushed and his eyes look so blue, his mouth looks so _kissed_ , that Clint can’t stop himself from raking his fingers through Steve’s hair, making a mess of it while he can. 

“Stark’s going to bust us if we hit the emergency stop button, right?” Clint murmurs, not entirely kidding, and Steve nods reluctantly, bites down on a grin. 

_Fuck_ , Clint loves that grin. It’s sweet and boyish, just a bit naughty, and incredibly fond. Clint hadn’t seen it properly until their first date and he’s made a point since of making it happen as much as he can. Not always an awful lot of reason to smile in their lives but for Steve, Clint’s sure there should be. No one as incredibly good as Steve is should have to put up with the sort of shit Steve deals with constantly and Clint is on a one-man mission to reward Steve for being so amazing. 

“Think he was kidding about putting the security footage on YouTube?” Steve asks, faking guilelessness the way that makes Clint melt. 

“Not even a little,” Clint says, just stupidly gone on this man, and when he can see Steve weighing the pain in the ass of Tony putting them on YouTube against the inconvenience of waiting, Clint has to hug Steve tight, plaster as much of them together as humanly possible to remind himself Steve’s even real. “How long do you think it would take them to notice I’m in Hulk green?” 

Steve groans. Presses a kiss to Clint’s hair and doesn’t ease up his hold at all until the doors open again. 

It feels like they’ve fallen into bed together a hundred ways by now but this is Clint’s favorite, both of them laughing and hungry, enough time to really enjoy it and enough privacy to relax. 

Clint falls back onto the bed first, leaves Steve standing over him staring while Clint stretches out, coy. Rubbing a hand over the fading Hulk fist on his shirt is just this side of mean but when Clint curls his fingers into the fabric, tugs it up a little to bare some skin over his jeans, he’s pretty sure Steve forgives him. 

“ _I_ like this shirt,” Clint drawls. “It’s comfortable. Fits just right, don’t you think?” 

One more arch look and Steve’s joining him, laying beside him and covering Clint’s hand with his own, moving the hem of Clint’s shirt a bit higher. “I should burn this shirt.” 

“But you won’t.” Steve hesitates. Shakes his head. Coaxes Clint’s fingers away from the shirt to slide them both down Clint’s belly, down towards the straining fly Steve’s ignoring for now. “Dunno if you’ve noticed but I’m still wearing it,” Clint whispers conspiratorially. 

Steve settles a thigh across Clint’s hips and places Clint’s hand on his own stomach, patting twice so Clint knows not to move while Steve guides Clint’s shirt up with his fingers. “Don’t worry, I have a plan,” Steve whispers back, just as secret, lips twitching with that grin again when he’s done. 

“That plan involve us getting naked?” 

“Eventually,” Steve concedes. “First, I thought I’d make you a little crazy.” 

“Fair enough,” Clint manages, and then Steve’s shifting, lowering his mouth to Clint’s belly, and the sensation of air-soft kisses left damp and warm from Steve’s breath make Steve-baiting counterproductive. 

Steve doesn’t really talk dirty, not in the pornish way Clint’s used to hearing, and he’s never really rough the way his strength and build and training suggest he’d be. He’s patient and thorough, incredibly tactile when they’re alone, and he approaches sex like access to Clint’s body is a gift. It’s been a lot for Clint to wrap his head around, especially in the early days, but Steve’s won him over at some point and Clint doesn’t really miss the way it used to be. 

So Steve’s idea of re-laying claim is sucking mouth prints on Clint’s stomach while he inches Clint’s shirt up, wedges it under Clint’s armpits and leaves a bright band of green while Steve maps Clint’s torso with his mouth, rakes Clint’s body with gentle nails. Steve does get in a few more cracks about the shirt but they’re muffled and fleeting, half-hearted at best, and he distracts himself with leaving love bites on Clint’s skin. 

_Mine_ , Steve says with touch and taste and whispers, and Clint strokes Steve’s sweaty hair. 

Clint remembers thinking once upon a time that it would be insanely hot to have Captain America’s mouth on him, remembers getting off alone in his room at the thought of watching his cock disappear into that mouth, Cap’s hands on Clint’s ass while Clint makes the most of that super endurance, fucking Cap’s throat until he comes and holding Cap’s head still until he’s finished, watching Cap ease back and wipe his mouth with the back of a glove. Clint’s gotten off to the thought of the smell of his come on that uniform, the feel of his cock grinding against that ass, his face buried in the neck of that cowl while he ground the heel of a palm over Captain America’s dick. 

He’s fucked the soldier and the Avenger and the commanding officer, let Steve use him to blank them both on bad calls and clusterfucks and frustrations because it’s what they both needed to happen. It’s good, always is with this man, but Clint likes it best when it’s just him and Steve, all the other things they are left at the edge of the bed. 

Clint still sees the things no one else does, the way Steve’s eyes widen in pleasure when Clint tugs his hair gently, the way Steve still looks tentative, needs reassurance, before he’ll let himself slide Clint’s jeans down. Steve still lasts longer than anyone else Clint’s ever met, still puts all that strength and agility to good use, but it’s intensely personal when he does. Feels like Clint’s the only person in Steve’s whole world, like Clint’s the only person who’ll ever see this side of Steve and like Clint will never be this vulnerable with anybody else. 

So it’s not the fame or the cowl or the legend that makes Clint’s breath catch when Steve’s teeth tug a patch of skin near Clint’s hipbone, it’s knowing Steve’s going to kiss the slight soreness gone, that he’ll steal a soft flick of tongue before he pulls away. It’s knowing how long it took to convince Steve marks were _okay_ , that Clint actively wants to feel Steve’s touch on him the next day. 

Clint wants to hold himself up to see how Steve’s doing so far but Steve keeps nipping at his abdomen, which makes that curl hard to hold, and when Clint tries to tug his shirt off to clear his sightline, Steve reaches up to link their fingers, trapping Clint’s hands. 

Clint thinks about where he can already feel Steve’s biting kisses and how random they probably aren’t. 

Steve looks…shy. Tentative, at least, maybe even a little embarrassed. 

So this ought to be interesting. 

“You making me pretty?” 

Steve pretends he’s distracted but there’s a guilty pause to incriminate him; it’s Steve, so Clint’s using _incriminate_ loosely but he knows guilt when he sees it. Clint squeezes Steve’s fingers gently, tugs at them to draw Steve’s attention. 

“Okay, you are,” Clint decides. “Should I be worried?” 

Steve thinks it over, shakes his head reluctantly. “I don’t want you to see it until it’s done.” 

“Work in progress?” Clint tries, just to see Steve’s private grin again. 

It works like it always does and this time, it’s a bit smug. Someday, Clint’s going to marry this man, he’s just going to have to. It’s going to be a grin like that that does him in, too, he can tell; all his carefully laid out reasons for not wanting to go that far when he _knows_ someday he’s going to make Steve a widower are just going to dissolve under that boyish mischief Clint knows Steve saves just for him. 

Clint has very good reasons for not wanting to make it official like that. He just can’t remember what they are at the moment. 

“I’m almost done,” Steve promises and it’s all Clint can do to nod. 

Steve lowers his mouth again but he doesn’t look away, just holds Clint’s stare as he grazes light, teasing brushes over Clint’s skin. Clint’s pulse feels too fast, too loud, and the air Clint’s breathing is heavy; when Steve licks a deliberate stripe over Clint’s ribs, blows a cool stream of breath over it, Clint’s eyes close on their own. 

“Fuck, Steve, just finish,” Clint gets out, and when he looks at Steve again, he doesn’t bother trying to hide any part of his need. Steve can take a small eternity to touch Clint’s dick if that’s what he wants but he can’t do it without letting Clint kiss him back and for as good as it feels to have Steve’s mouth on him like this, Clint misses the warmth and smell of getting lost in Steve properly. 

“Getting restless on me, Hawkeye?” Steve baits. “We should work on your endurance.” 

Clint blurts a dry laugh. “I thought we were.” Then Clint’s trying to slide down to steal a kiss — at the very least — and Steve’s holding him still, slipping a hand free to press a thumb over Clint’s hip. “I want you up here with me. Want to play with your mouth.” 

“Oh, is that all?” Steve teases, quirking a brow, and he darts up to bite at Clint’s lower lip quickly, slips down to finish, murmuring “Sorry, sorry, didn’t think it’d take this long” between worrying at Clint’s stomach with his teeth again. It’s so perfectly Steve, disarming and hot and meltingly sweet, that Clint can’t help the foolish smile any more than he can stop himself from threading the fingers of the hand Steve’s not holding through Steve’s hair. 

By the time Steve’s finished, Clint has a pretty good idea what he’ll find when Steve lets him see what Steve’s been working on. The difference between suspecting and seeing, though, is just _intense_. 

Steve peels Clint’s stupid shirt up over his head _finally_ and draws Clint up in the process, leaves Clint sprawling-sitting on the bed while Steve crouches over him, hovering expectantly. Clint looks down at himself and Steve reaches out to touch him again, like Steve can’t stand the lack of contact, either, and when Clint’s lust-fogged brain puts the pattern together, Clint hooks a hand Steve’s neck so Clint can tip in to hide his sappy smile in Steve’s cheek. 

Steve’s mouthfucked a Cap star on him. Licked and sucked and bitten his own logo onto Clint’s skin. Not unexpected, not really, and not _well_ or anything — it’s awkward and lop-sided, blotchy in spots and unfinished, more a suggestion than anything concrete — but it’s there and it’s real and Steve’s tracing it with a careful finger like maybe Clint won’t know what it is.

Christ, that’s hot. 

“I should get this tattooed,” Clint says, shaky with feelings he can’t even pin down. 

“Wasn’t sure you’d hold still for the rest of it,” Steve shrugs, like it’s nothing, which is when Clint realizes Steve’s plan probably included the whole shield. 

Clint thinks maybe his brain short circuits trying to process that. “Might not have gotten out of this room again if you had.” 

“Yeah?” 

Then Clint’s holding Steve’s face in his hands, fumbling out “You think I’m kidding” and kissing Steve like the world will end if he stops. 

Clint can feel Steve smiling against his mouth, feels the rumble of Steve’s laughter tingle his lips as Clint tugs Steve’s shirt up to get it _off_ , too restless to have Steve over him again to be anywhere as gentle as Steve’s been tonight. Steve stops laughing and kisses back about the time Clint has to shift away to get Steve’s shirt over his head and _fuck_ , the way Steve’s grinning at him when Clint chucks the shirt aside is a goddamned _smirk_. 

Clearly the only sensible response is to hook his fingers into Steve’s belt loops and haul them both down again. 

Clint’s left his patience on the far side of that smirk and it’s not Clint’s dick driving him right now, it’s the need to show Steve how it feels, because Clint’s just never going to get the words straight to express it any other way. 

Flipping them, straddling Steve and bracing himself so at least part of that star’s got to be visible, that’s all easy enough. Grinding his hips down so they get some dick friction going through their pants, that’s not even something Clint needs to think about, that just _happens_ when Clint has Steve under him. Pulling away long enough to get Steve’s pants down, that’s just not possible, Clint doesn’t have that kind of patience in him anymore, Steve’s burned it all up with his _star_. 

“Clint,” Steve says, still sort of laughing and kneading Clint’s ass with his hands. “Slow down. We’ve got time, okay?” 

“Can’t,” Clint says and _tries_ , but it just ends in one long, deep grind that has Steve gasping a groan. “Steve, can I…?” 

He doesn’t really have an end to that question. When it matters, when it’s personal, Clint is not a talker. Neither is Steve. 

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “Yeah, anything.” 

Clint kisses Steve until he gets light-headed, can’t stop working his hips while Steve’s making those sweet little sounds Clint gets to swallow. Steve needs to come now, Clint decides, Steve needs to come until his whole body’s on fire with it, and there is no way Clint’s going to have the fucking patience to do it properly unless he takes the edge off early. 

Grinding off together’s not exactly shield-sucking levels of hot but it lets them keep kissing when Clint’s not coaxing Steve with broken praise, lets Clint keep contact until he can handle Steve’s fly, and it _works_. Steve pulls Clint’s hips in sharply and holds them in place, angles his face into Clint’s neck and swears on a broken breath, stiffening and shuddering unmistakably. 

“Dammit, Clint,” Steve says, heatless and restless, and then he’s holding Clint in tight and muttering curses of encouragement hot and damp into Clint’s ear, telling Clint how good he feels and how much Steve wants to feel Clint come for him now. It’s not really an order but it doesn’t have to be; Clint’s gone the moment Steve points out Clint just made him come in his _pants_. “You’re not even sorry, are you?” 

Clint gives himself a minute of resting tucked into Steve’s chest, because Clint is an old man already and Steve makes that really, really easy to forget, but there’s nothing to say he can’t multi-task. He flashes Steve an arch look and a lazy smirk, distracts Steve from the stealth hand he’s slipping down to deal with that fly, and says, “I’m also not done with you yet.” 

Steve blinks at him, dazed. “Oh God. I was just going to suck you off. Clint, what—“ Steve breaks off to shiver when Clint gets a hand down Steve’s pants to explore the mess, rubbing his thumb over the head of Steve’s cock and playing his fingers over the sensitive spot just beneath. 

“Look at you with all the good plans. That kind of thinking should be rewarded.” 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve grits out, practically a hiss. 

“Oh, believe me, we’ll get there,” Clint promises, heady with possibilities. At some point tonight, before they leave this bed, Clint’s going to need Steve inside him, Steve’s hands over Clint’s star and Steve’s face blanked by pleasure, but Clint wants to give Steve so much more before they get there. 

Needs to show Steve all the things he can’t quite put to words. 

Because maybe the marks Steve’s left on him are going to fade in a few days but the things behind them? Those are permanent as scars. 

~f~


End file.
